A Long Suffering Woman
by pebbles66
Summary: A collection of short ficlets focusing on that long-suffering woman, Mrs. Hudson. Some AU, some cheerful, and some depressing, and not always in chronological order.
1. Chapter 1

_Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman._ from The Dying Detective

A/N Thanks to KCS for being so encouraging and supportive.

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A Long-Suffering Woman

Changes

Martha Hudson straightened up, tucking stray wisps of hair behind her ears, and looked around in satisfaction. Neat as a pin, and sparkling clean. Furniture not new, but comfortable and serviceable. Big, bright windows, a fireplace, and a worn rug made the room seem inviting and cozy. With the bedrooms, a very nice set of rooms and well worth the price she was asking.

She sighed, letting memories flood her mind. This had been her late husband's favorite room, and she could still picture him there easily. She'd avoided this room since his passing and dreaded seeing a stranger in his chair. But the necessity of taking in lodgers had been made painfully clear in the last weeks. After days of cleaning and airing, everything was ready.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped out into the hall, shutting the door and the memories behind her. It was time to move on.


	2. Chapter 2

Pondering

Martha Hudson sat down with a nice cup of tea to ponder the two men who had just left.

They both seemed fine, upright gentlemen, polite enough, and had agreed to her terms readily. One, an injured doctor just returned from Afghanistan, and the other – well, she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He'd asked questions about tobacco, chemicals, and violin music, and had begged permission to use the sitting room to "meet with clients", as he'd put it. She'd wondered, but he seemed all right.

She felt certain that her late husband would approve her choice in lodgers. He'd never have wanted her rattling around in this empty house all alone with only her own thoughts for company. Yes, she was sure she'd made a good choice.

But all the same, she had a niggling feeling there was more to those two than initially met the eye.


	3. Chapter 3

First Impressions: Dr. Watson

Dr. Watson had moved his few things 'round the very night the two of them had looked over the rooms.

He hadn't wanted any supper, but Mrs. Hudson made a pot of strong tea and took it up to him in the sitting-room, along with some biscuits, thinking he looked a little peaked after his exertions.

The doctor was fair collapsed on the sofa, but perked up nicely with the tea, and seemed genuinely pleased with his new surroundings.

It was plain to Mrs. Hudson that he was not a well man. She knew he'd been in Afghanistan; his pronounced limp and stiff arm revealed still-healing injuries. But looking at his tired, worn face, she could see that his spirit had been damaged too, in that far-away place.

He'd told her his nerves were shattered, and she wondered privately if perhaps he'd made the wisest choice in Mr. Holmes as flat-mate.


	4. Chapter 4

First Impressions: Sherlock Holmes

She'd remembered Mr. Holmes, of course. He'd been around earlier to see the rooms she had to let, and was disappointed to find the price too much for his pocketbook.

But he'd come back with another young man who'd agreed to share the rent, and suddenly Mrs. Hudson had gained two lodgers.

Now she found herself subjected to a whirlwind of activity upstairs, harsh tobacco smoke, violin music at all hours of the night, and the most unusual types of people constantly trooping in and out of the house. And more than once, Holmes had frightened the poor landlady half out of her wits with his bellowing down the stairs and rushing about the place. Hardly what she'd bargained for.

Granted, he could be charming and well-mannered at times, to his credit. All the same, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that spoke of hidden fires, and talents, indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

Feeding-up

Feeding-up

Mrs. Hudson sat in the kitchen making out her market list. She paused, thinking how to tempt the meager appetites of the men upstairs. Those two barely ate enough to keep body and soul together, and were so thin it almost took both of them to make one shadow.

Dr. Watson had told her army living taught him to eat what he was given, when it was given; one never knew what the day might hold. He appreciated her cooking, but enteric fever had left him a lingering inability to eat much at a sitting.

Mr. Holmes now, he went for days without eating much of anything. He wasn't picky, really, he simply forgot to eat.

Both definitely needed some feeding-up. And she was just the woman to do it. She determined to make it her special project to put a little meat on the bones of her new lodgers.


	6. Chapter 6

Boys Will Be Boys

The first time her new lodgers broke a piece of her good china, Mrs. Hudson didn't say anything. After all, accidents will happen. She simply swept up the fragments and accepted their kind offer to replace the shattered cup.

The second time, she fussed a little, but they apologized profusely and looked so guilty that she forgave them in the end. And made certain to use her next-best china for their tea from then on.

The third time, she was furious and let them know. When she finished with them, they looked like two schoolboys after a trip to the woodshed.

The fourth time, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving them to gape at each other in bewildered silence. Mrs. Hudson calmly walked downstairs, gathering her hat and gloves, and promptly headed to the nearest second-hand shop to buy every chipped, mismatched tea set she could find.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Thanks to those who have read and reviewed. You people are great! **

**This one is longer than usual; I just couldn't stop at 150 words.**

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Tea and Company

Dr. Watson went for a walk almost every day, unless it was icy or snowing. His balance and coordination were not what they had been before his injuries, and there was too much risk of a fall for him to venture out in exceptionally inclement weather. But he insisted that he must continue to exercise to regain his strength, and so despite her misgivings, Mrs. Hudson simply made certain the fire was burning hot and that she had a warm drink waiting for him on his return.

Today, when he'd returned half-frozen and shivering uncontrollably, she'd taken one look at him and pushed him unceremoniously into the kitchen, quite the warmest room in the house. Helping him off with his coat, she'd settled him in the chair closest to the fire. He'd accepted the blanket and hot cup of tea she'd pressed on him, and they sat together in companionable silence for some time while he thawed out.

When he could speak without his teeth chattering, Dr. Watson found himself responding to Mrs. Hudson's shy questions about his time in Afghanistan. In fact, as his body grew warmer, he found himself telling his landlady more and more about his experiences – things he'd never said to anyone before. He described the desert, with its strange, harsh beauty, and the sky that seemed to stretch forever. He spoke of the people, sharing some of the folk-tales and legends they had passed on. He told her about the men whom he'd watched die, and the desperate retreat from Maiwand. He told her about the pain from his injuries, the blood-loss, about Murray, and the weeks when he'd been semi-conscious from enteric fever. He told her about his despair, begging the doctors to leave him alone and let him die. And he told her about arriving back in England, completely lost, knowing no-one and having nowhere to go. He finally trailed off in embarrassment when he realized that he'd been speaking for almost an hour.

Mrs. Hudson, who had been listening with rapt attention, patted his hand soothingly. "Thank you for telling me all this, doctor. I'm honored that you would confide in me," she said quietly. "You needed to get all that out of you so you could heal." She blinked back the tears which gathered threateningly in her eyes as she looked at his still-troubled face.

Dr. Watson shook his head ruefully as he got stiffly to his feet and began to leave the kitchen. "I'm sorry you had to listen to my ramblings, Mrs. Hudson. I'm just a sick, tired man, and I know you have many things which require your attention," he responded.

He stopped when she called him back for a moment. "Doctor", she said. "You _will_ get better, you know. It will just take time. And maybe a little more feeding-up," she finished with a smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. For the tea, and the company, too." He returned the smile and turned away.

Mrs. Hudson sighed as she picked up the cups and moved to the sideboard. It had been quite an illuminating afternoon. As she listened to the limping footsteps moving slowly up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson found herself feeling a new respect for the kind, broken doctor with the haunted eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks again to those who are reading and reviewing. It means the world to me!

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Good For What Ails You

Mrs. Hudson firmly believed that a nice hot cup of tea could cure anything that ailed a person.

When one of her lodgers was ill or seemed out of sorts, her first instinct was to brew a pot of strong tea, and serve it up, with plenty of sugar, to the afflicted party. The tea was usually accompanied with fresh-baked bread or sweet biscuits hot from the oven.

Dr. Watson had to admit that this humble elixir could be as potent as any medicine. His own prescriptions seemed more effective when combined with the simple remedy of their able landlady.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** _This was inspired by watching "The Illustrious Client" last night and watching Mrs. Hudson fussing over Holmes and Watson. Hope you like it, and thanks again for all the kind comments_

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More than a Landlady

Mrs. Hudson really was quite fond of her lodgers. She was sometimes sharp with them, but only because they meant so much to her, and needed so much looking-after. As a result, she worried over them when they were involved with a client. She sat up listening for their return, albeit hidden in her room, when they were called out at night. And she was aware of their abysmal eating and sleeping habits, which worried her no end.

She cooked for them, cleaned for them, washed their collars and cuffs. She tolerated their irregular habits and that nightmare of a sitting-room. She was their messenger, their landlady, and their friend.

And when they came home injured from one of their ridiculous adventures, it was she who brewed the tea, fetched the hot water and bandages, who called in a doctor when needed. It was she who picked up the pieces.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** _This one came to me while my daughter and I were watching Granada's "The Resident Patient" several days ago, aided by the fact that my kids have extremely messy rooms!_

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A Hasty Retreat

Dr. Watson opened the sitting-room door and stopped short, blinking in surprise.

The room had been neat and tidy at luncheon. Mrs. Hudson had spent all morning cleaning and straightening, with occasional assistance from the doctor sorting and filing mountains of newspapers, journals, and case notes. The end result had been a room that was, as Mrs. Hudson said, "fit for human habitation." They'd both been pleased with a job well done.

Unfortunately, Holmes had obviously returned while the doctor was out. It had taken him only an hour to undo the work it had taken Watson and their landlady all morning to accomplish.

Seeing Holmes had gone out again, Watson determined now was a good time to beat a hasty retreat.

He stealthily made his way upstairs just as Mrs. Hudson's step sounded from below.

A moment later her wordless shriek reached him, echoing against his hastily shut door.


	11. Chapter 11

First Impressions: Inspector Lestrade

Mrs. Hudson took the visitor's coat and hat, hanging them on the hook by the door, and sent him on up the stairs to the sitting room. Mr. Lestrade was a frequent visitor, but it had taken some time before she realized that he was really Inspector Lestrade, from Scotland Yard, come to seek advice from Mr. Holmes.

He was a small, sharp-faced man, a little abrupt in his mannerisms and condescending at times, but with the air of someone who was determined to work as hard as he needed to get the job done. He appeared harassed and tired today, but he looked her in the eyes when he spoke to her, and was quietly appreciative of the hot drink she offered on a cold day.

He seemed a proud man, but not so proud that he wouldn't ask for help from the great detective when it was needed.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** _We're getting a little out of chronological order here, but this just came to me today, so..._

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First Day

Mrs. Hudson retired to her bedroom, settling into her favorite chair to reflect on the first day with lodgers in the house.

Mr. Holmes had appeared early, bringing his boxes and valises, and Dr. Watson joined in, unpacking and putting away his own belongings.

They'd already chosen bedrooms, but there was some quiet discussion about placement of books and pictures. And she'd heard some noise upstairs as they rearranged the furniture a bit to better suit their needs. By afternoon's end the room had lost its bare unoccupied look, and transformed into a cozy, warm haven.

She'd taken a simple supper up, which they'd eagerly accepted, and she'd been gratified to see that not a morsel remained when she came back to collect the dishes later.

Mrs. Hudson smiled to herself as she got up to prepare for bed. In her opinion, the first day had been a great success.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** _I've been having trouble sleeping myself, and Mrs. Hudson's prescription sounds like a good idea to me! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing; it means a lot to me._

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Reconnaissance

Mrs. Hudson awoke rather later than was her wont, and hurriedly washed and dressed. The sounds of pacing footsteps, talking and Mr. Holmes' scraping on his violin had kept her awake till very early this morning, and she stifled a yawn as she stepped out of her bedroom and started down the steps.

Reaching the sitting room shared by her lodgers, she stopped for a moment to reconnoiter the situation. Often she based her decision of what to prepare for breakfast on the behavior and habits of her two tenants. Peeking into the room, she noted the lingering dense haze of tobacco smoke, papers scattered over the floor, and the figure of Sherlock Holmes sprawled out on the settee.

She nodded to herself, closing the door quietly, and continuing down the stairs to stoke the fire and fill the boiler. Today definitely called for copious amounts of strong black coffee.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Not sure where this came from; but I think it's possible... I read a quote somewhere describing Mrs. Hudson as "a d--'d fine figure of a woman."_

Suitor

"Holmes," I said. "Looks like we have a client." I stood at the window looking down Baker Street. Holmes came to stand behind me, watching the middle-aged man glancing up at house numbers before coming to a stop at our door. Hesitating, he paused to adjust his collar and cuffs before ringing the bell.

"Watson, do go down and let him in. Mrs. Hudson has been most distracted today; we don't want to keep him waiting."

I started down to the front door, stopping in surprise to see Mrs. Hudson, examining her hair in the hall mirror and pinching her cheeks. She took a deep breath and turned to the door without seeing me.

I quietly crept back upstairs, where Holmes was waiting impatiently before the fire. "Well," he queried. "Where's our client?"

I sat down, smiling a little. "He's not here for us. I believe Mrs. Hudson has a suitor!"


	15. Chapter 15

Baking Day

Martha Hudson loved baking. There was something satisfying about taking simple ingredients - flour, yeast, milk, butter, and sugar, and turning them into something warm and delicious.

Taking a ball of dough from the bowl and laying it on the worktable, she dusted it with flour, and began to knead. The rhythmic activity allowed her to lose herself in the motion, and as she worked, she thought.

Martha's earliest memories entailed watching her grandmother mix and knead; sometimes she was allowed to stir. She'd started baking herself at the age of eight, standing beside her mother in the old kitchen at home. Together they'd made bread and rolls, sweet cakes and biscuits. The skill had stood her in good stead later, when she'd baked in this very kitchen for her new husband. At Christmas she'd made little shaped biscuits with her nieces, delighting in passing along her skill to her sisters' children. And now she baked for her tenants, both of whom had a sweet tooth hidden just below the surface.

It was easier to go to the bakery down the street, and she often did, but some days, she preferred to bake in her own kitchen, filling the house with wonderful smells

Mrs. Hudson placed the now well-kneaded dough into a loaf pan, remembering the simple pleasure of fresh-baked bread.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** _This was partially inspired by The Fool's Hope lovely chapter, "An Irregular's Tale" in Fragments. Go read it right away if you haven't yet. Thanks again to everyone who is reading and reviewing!_

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The Irregulars

Martha Hudson bit back a few sharp words as a swarm of filthy rag-tag boys swept past her and up the steps to the first floor. Mr. Holmes and his Irregulars! She'd never understand her tenant's crazy ideas. Who would ever think of using street children as messengers, spies, even assistants of sorts? But that was exactly what Mr. Holmes did regularly, and the boys reported back with their dirty feet and even dirtier mouths.

She'd seen kindness in his eyes as he gazed at the poor lads, and she had to admit they were better off working for Mr. Holmes than begging on the streets. They were useful, too – able to go places no adult ever could. They were good boys at heart, so she tolerated their noise and dirt, and kept a never-ending supply of home-baked scones on hand to supplement the scale of pay the detective gave.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N**: _I decided we needed a description of Mrs. Hudson, too. I envision her not as Rosalie Williams portrayed her in Granada (although I love that Mrs. Hudson), but as a woman still youthful and attractive - maybe around the age of 45 to 50. Oh, and I found that quote about her:_

_"Mrs. Hudson was opulently made, no more than five feet four inches tall, fair and rosy, with wide eyes of deepest blue. Connoisseurs of the eighties would, and probably did, call her a d--m'd fine figure of a woman." Manly Wade Wellman, in "The Great Man's Great Son."_

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(It's another 221b)

First Impressions: Mrs. Hudson

Sherlock Holmes had barely entered the cab before he began to excitedly describe to me the rooms we were presently to see. His exuberance made them sound very desirable indeed, and soon I was quite as eager to see them as he. He also described the landlady of the establishment, a widow, in rather vague terms. From his description I envisioned a plump, older woman with grey hair and glasses, a no-nonsense attitude, and a strictly-run household.

Yet when I was introduced to Mrs. Hudson, it appeared that my conclusions were entirely unfounded. In point of fact, Mrs. Hudson proved to be quite an attractive woman, possibly twenty-five years older than myself, with smooth brown hair slightly touched with grey, a freckled nose, and bright blue eyes. Her youthful figure and the beauty of her smile combined to give her an air of energy and vitality.

Mrs. Hudson turned out to be the ideal landlady for Holmes and myself: patient with the quirks of two bachelors, tolerant of our lackadaisical attitude toward meals and sleeping, and long-suffering regarding the disaster of the sitting room.

It wasn't long before Holmes and I came to the conclusion that we were quite the luckiest men in London. How many could describe their landlady with such high praise, and as a good cook to boot?

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_A/N #2: In no way am I implying a romantic or sexual relationship between Mrs. Hudson and either of the "boys". whew_


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: 'Cause even the most long-suffering of women has her limits_...

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Malingering

Inspector Morton had removed Culverton Smith in handcuffs; now Holmes stood removing the makeup which had cemented his deception upon us all, explaining his methods and deductions in the case.

He turned as Mrs. Hudson entered, shrinking back in dismay as she marched up to stand toe-to-toe with him, bristling with rage.

"See here, Mr. Holmes" she said, glaring up at him, a foot taller than she. "I don't appreciate being lied to and tricked. I was worried about you. I'm just your landlady, and as such, have no claim on you. But, I swear, if you try something like this again, you'll be out on the street so fast your head will spin! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Holmes said meekly as she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Holmes sank down on his bed, as I struggled to hide my amusement. A formidable woman, indeed.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: This is really fluffy, but I guess I'm as much a hopeless romantic as Watson. Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed my little fics. Your kind words have warmed my heart and blessed my spirit. Thank you so much._

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First Impressions: Mary Morstan

Mrs. Hudson shut the sitting-room door behind her, hearing the voice of the detective's newest client fade as she did so. She paused for a moment, as she considered the woman she'd just admitted.

She was a lovely young woman, a true lady, and Mrs. Hudson had known the instant Dr. Watson had set eyes on her that this girl was different, that she'd made an immediate impression on the doctor.

By the doctor's own admission, he had experience with women over three continents, but Miss Morstan had captured his attention like no other Mrs. Hudson had ever met. There was something special about this girl, and this something appeared to have struck an answering chord in the doctor's own heart.

She wasn't sure how she knew, but when asked about it afterwards, Mrs. Hudson swore that instant was when she knew she'd just met the future Mrs. John Watson.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: My angst junket continues, crossing over from My Friend and Colleague_

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_Shattered

She didn't believe it until she saw his face.

She'd received the telegram with its short, terse message and duly read it, dazedly dropping her teacup, which shattered as she blindly groped for a chair.

But it couldn't be true; it wasn't possible. Her mind whirled in disbelief.

She waited anxiously for his return, reading that horrible, impossibly missive over and over until she quite knew it from memory:

TERRIBLE ACCIDENT STOP HOLMES KILLED STOP WILL EXPLAIN WHEN RETURN TO LONDON STOP

J WATSON

It wasn't until she saw the doctor's shattered face that Mrs. Hudson allowed herself finally to cry.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: The recent trend of tipsy Watson and Lestrade has been so funny that I tcouldn't resist adding Holmes to the mix. Please read and review!_

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_A Little Polluted (or Tempest in a Teapot)

Martha Hudson grinned to herself as another burst of raucous laughter sounded from upstairs. Her lodgers had returned from heaven knows where some time earlier, both in the state her grandfather had always called "a little polluted." The noise had awakened their landlady, who at first had thought the building under attack from a loud band of street ruffians. She was soon satisfied that this was not the case and had taken up a position of observation. A highly tolerant woman, Mrs. Hudson had simply watched from her room as the doctor and the detective lurched through the front door and stumbled arm in arm up the stairs to the sitting room, loudly shushing each other as they went. Satisfied that they had achieved the room without any damage to either themselves or the hallway wall, she had attempted to go back to bed. Two hours later she had given up the attempt to sleep, finally putting on her wrapper and going down to the kitchen to brew coffee and prepare an early breakfast for her two tenants.

Now as she worked she listened to their laughter and rather loud conversation with an indulgent smile. This was actually quite entertaining. Her tenants were usually the most reserved of men, not given to any disturbance. Or at least the doctor was reserved, she amended. Mr. Holmes was rather more _energetic,_ and very capable of disturbing the entire street if he had a mind, but his demeanor this morning was out of character even for him. The men's infrequent descent into drink brought out their more boisterous qualities, she supposed.

Mrs. Hudson knew her lodgers had been involved in a long and arduous case. Though they might not realize it, she was very much aware of what went on upstairs in that sitting room. Not that she listened outside the door, of course; she would never stoop to such common practices. But she was an intelligent, capable woman, and she considered it part of her duty as landlady to keep an eye, and an ear, out for her tenants' well-being. Even though many would consider them the worst tenants in London, especially Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Hudson was quite fond of them both and did everything she could to look out for them, difficult though that sometimes was.

So she didn't mind if they occasionally came home a trifle more cheery than was usual. They deserved a bit of fun after a trying case.

And this case had been trying to say the least. A Mrs. Adams had consulted them almost a week ago about her missing husband. She'd actually had very little to tell them, and had been rather more distrait than was usual for their clients. Dr. Watson had been obliged to use his smelling-salts when Mrs. Adams had succumbed to her anxiety and swooned into Mr. Holmes' arms, very narrowly missing hitting her head on the mantelpiece in the process. After much chaos and scrambling about, and a good deal of noise, Mrs. Adams had calmed down enough to give the detective and the doctor the information they needed. Soon after her departure Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had left the flat in a search for evidence, and had not returned till quite late that evening. They'd left again the following morning before she'd even put their coffee on, informing her on their way out the door not to expect them back for several days.

True to their word, they'd not returned for three days, looking much the worse for wear, and as though they'd not slept or eaten a bite since they left Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson had fussed over them, exclaiming over their wan appearance and filthy clothes, and subsequently provided some of their favorite foods to tempt their appetites. She'd spent the rest of the day attempting to get the various stains out of their trouser cuffs and shirt collars. She wasn't certain, but she could have sworn that the stains were more than red clay and mud; indeed, there were some spots that definitely looked like blood; but of course the doctor and detective denied that, and other than the glorious black eye Mr. Holmes sported, which he tried to explain away as the afteraffect of walking into a door, there wasn't a scratch on either man that she could see. Still, she had her suspicions and if she noticed that the doctor's limp was more pronounced and that Mr. Holmes seemed more careful in his movements than was typical, she didn't mention it.

Mrs. Adams had called again only yesterday, and apparently the matter of her husband's disappearance had been explained satisfactorily, as she left the flat in much better spirits than she had entered, and without the drama of her previous visit. Mrs. Hudson wasn't sure exactly what the outcome of the case had been, but she was only too glad to see the last of that particular woman, whose case had so monopolized her tenants' time and attention for the past week. Mrs. Hudson had served them a large supper that evening and had gone to her bed content in the knowledge that her two gentlemen were back where they should be and resting quietly after an arduous case.

But apparently they'd gone out again while she was asleep. How long they'd been gone she had no idea, but they'd awakened her when they returned in the wee hours of the morning, talking and laughing quite loudly and with much enthusiasm. Several thumps and crashes from the sitting room had made it quite impossible for her to return to sleep, and so she'd finally given up at about 4:00am, and gone downstairs to the kitchen. It sounded to her as if some coffee was definitely in order.

Finishing with her preparations, she placed everything on a tray and started up the stairs to the sitting room. Snatches of drunken singing came to her ears as she ascended, until finally a huge crash shocked her ears, signaling the demise of what she assumed was yet another of her china teapots which she'd unfortunately left in the room. Mrs. Hudson sighed, glad that it wasn't one of her better pieces, steeled her face to a stern look and knocked on the door.

She'd heard them whispering frantically to each other after the crash, but they broke off immediately upon her knock. There was dead quiet for a moment, and then softly but very clearly Mrs. Hudson heard Mr. Holmes exclaim "Bugger!"

There was another, softer and even more frantic whispered exchange before Dr. Watson's strained voice spoke up. "Er, yes?" he asked warily. Mrs. Hudson heard the sounds of panicked straightening-up, and as she opened the door was greeted with the sight of the usually straight-laced doctor and detective surreptitiously kicking pieces of the broken teapot under the settee, decidedly guilty looks on both their faces.

"Oh, hello Mrs. Hudson," Dr. Watson slurred, carefully avoiding meeting her eyes. "I hope we didn't wake you?" Mrs. Hudson could see that the doctor was a trifle unsteady on his feet, and was glad when he suddenly dropped into his armchair with a muffled groan, cradling his head in his hand.

"No, doctor, I'm always up at 5:00am" she responded severely, although she was secretly enjoying seeing her stoic lodgers in this quite amusing state. "I've brought you some coffee; it looks like you two need it." She looked meaningfully over at Mr. Holmes, who had abruptly collapsed half across the settee, and was already snoring gently.

"Mmm, yes, I do believe that would be a good idea." Dr. Watson had the grace to blush slightly as he took in her stern expression. He attempted to explain. "Holmes is just overly tired, Mrs. Hudson. You know he doesn't sleep when he's involved in a case. And it's been a long few days. But the case is solved, and … er… well, we just went out to the Bird and Bear for a bit. We really had no idea it was so late, er, early, that is" he amended, as she raised her eyebrow questioningly. "And I guess we've had a trifle too much to drink." Dr. Watson stifled a hiccup at this and subsided back into his armchair with a soft moan.

"Quite so, doctor" Mrs. Hudson answered, putting the tray down on the cluttered table, and moving several tottering stacks of paper so she could lay out the plates and cups. Glancing over at the doctor, she noted his pointed glares at Mr. Holmes and his desperate hand gestures indicating that the broken china was still visible. She turned quickly back to the table to hide her amusement and carefully schooled her face back into its severe expression. She turned back to the doctor a moment later to see him kneading at his temples. Seeing his obvious look of pain, she relented a little and flashed him a quick smile, which he returned a trifle sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I suppose we _were_ a little loud this morning. But I can assure you that we will be very quiet the rest of the day. This bit of indiscretion will take some time to get over, believe me." The doctor smiled ruefully, and Mrs. Hudson patted his arm as she passed him on the way out the door. From the corner of her eye she noted that Mr. Holmes had stopped feigning snoring and was peering at her through slitted eyes while attempting to hide the teapot pieces with his feet.

"That's all right, doctor" she answered with an indulgent look. "You and Mr. Holmes just get some rest, and I'll have a nice lunch waiting for you later." She heard his stealthy sigh of obvious relief and paused, glancing back at him from the doorway. Seeing his slightly green countenance, and thoroughly enjoying herself, she just couldn't resist a parting shot. "But don't think you'll be getting off that easily" she said, looking pointedly at the shattered pieces of china still partially visible under the settee. "That's the third teapot you gentlemen have smashed this month. I will be expecting a new one. This afternoon," she finished with a triumphant grin, quickly closing the door on the doctor's bleary astonishment.

From behind the door there was a moment of silence, and then she heard the detective's fervent and heartfelt "Bugger!"

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_This is my small attempt at humor. Not sure if it was successful, but I feel like I'm mired down in angst sometimes._


	22. Chapter 22

Alone

Mrs. Hudson attended the funeral and the meal following, catching the doctor's eye across the room. He'd nodded in recognition, and she watched as Mycroft Holmes and Inspector Lestrade offered condolences, followed by others whose faces she remembered from the old days in Baker Street. Mainly she watched the doctor.

He seemed smaller and more frail than she remembered. She knew Mary's illness and death had near broken him, but she was shocked to see how thin and haggard he'd become. He'd not looked like this in many years, not since she'd first met him, soon after his return from Afghanistan.

Reaching him, she kissed his cheek, murmuring some meaningless words of sympathy.

He'd responded with something equally unintelligible and turned away, leaving her to reflect on the hopelessness in his eyes.

And she thought, "Poor Dr. Watson. First Mr. Holmes, and now his Mary. Now he's truly alone."


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: A little longer one this time. Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

The Upstairs Sitting Room

Mrs. Hudson had been doing routine housework, sweeping and dusting as she did most mornings. But today for some reason, she stopped outside the closed door of the sitting room Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had shared. That in itself was slightly out of the ordinary, because other than occasional cleaning, the door to this room was seldom opened. It was just a sitting room; large and bright, but with no special qualities to set it apart from the rest of the house. But it had been a favorite room, ever since the first time she'd set eyes on it.

She stood thinking for a moment. How well she remembered that bright autumn day, years before! Newlyweds they'd been, she and her husband, with such hopes for their future! It had seemed the perfect house in which to raise a much hoped-for family, and though it had needed some repairs, the price had been manageable. And so they found themselves owners of 221B Baker Street.

Her Albert had loved the house as much as she did, but especially the large upstairs sitting room. His favorite aspect had been the large windows looking out over Baker Street. He'd enjoyed standing at the window watching the activity on the street below, and they'd spent many happy hours sitting together before the fire in the grate of an evening. The plans they'd made; the dreams they'd shared… But plans had a way of changing, and dreams sometimes just didn't come true.

After Albert died, Mrs. Hudson had closed up the room; it was too painful for her to enter it, too quiet there. And there were too many memories, both good and bad, and so she simply avoided the room altogether.

She muddled on alone for some time. Her sisters had wanted her to come to them, but she was determined to keep her home, until she realized there simply wasn't enough money. She couldn't stay in the house without additional income.

After several weeks of penny-pinching, soul-searching, and gathering advice, Mrs. Hudson finally settled on taking in lodgers in an effort to stay in the house. Thus it became necessary to begin the necessary task of cleaning and airing out the sitting room, and the attached bedroom. She found it not as difficult as she had feared, and was actually glad to relive some of the memories. Soon all was ready and with some trepidation, she began to interview prospective lodgers.

Mrs. Hudson grinned a little at the thought of the motley group of young men who'd come to see the rooms, ending with Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. They'd been quick to agree to her terms, and seemed like respectable young men, so the two of them became her first, and as it turned out, only lodgers.

They'd been good lodgers, too, although not what she'd expected. There was very little quiet in the house after they moved in, but she'd enjoyed having them both there and having someone to look after again. The upstairs sitting room had once again been a place of comfort and cheer, and she knew that both men had spent many enjoyable hours there.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and stepped inside. This room was where her lodgers had met with clients, from the lowest members of society to the highest echelon of nobility. This room was where they ate, talked, smoked, read, and argued, sometimes. This room had seen thieves, forgers, liars, police inspectors, and murderers within its walls and had rung with the sounds of gunshots, weeping, laughter and shouts of both triumph and anger. This was where Dr. Watson had met his beautiful bride. And this was the room where the friendship between the doctor and the detective was solidified.

There had been changes, over the years. After Dr. Watson had married and moved to his own home, the whole house felt different, but especially the sitting room. Mrs. Hudson had missed the doctor's cheerful presence and kind manner, and found herself standing in the kitchen, listening for his limping footsteps upstairs. When she'd entered the sitting room there was an almost palpable feeling of loss. The doctor had taken many of his things with him, and the absence of his books and pictures made the room seem dull and bare.

And, oh, how Mr. Holmes had missed him! Of course, he'd never admit to it, but he'd been her lodger long enough that she could recognize many of his moods. He'd moped around for days, moving only from his bed to the couch and barely eating a thing. He seemed as bereft as if Dr. Watson had died rather than married.

Dr. Watson had warned her about those deep fits of melancholy, and had asked her to keep an eye on the desk drawer where the leather case containing the cocaine was hidden. He'd hesitated to tell her about Holmes' drug use, fearing that she'd think less of him. But Mrs. Hudson had surprised him by telling the doctor that she'd known about the cocaine for years, and had surreptitiously been watching Holmes for just as long. There was no question that she would continue to do so now.

She neglected to tell the good doctor that she had always watched out for him as well. When she'd first met him, his health had been so fragile that she'd felt some obligation to look out for him, and even later, when he was hale again, it had simply become part of her life to care for the men upstairs. Her lodgers had become almost family to her over the years and she'd grown very fond of both of them.

Yes, she and Mr. Holmes had both missed the doctor, and things had changed, but Mr. Holmes was still at Baker Street. Dr. Watson visited frequently, and continued to assist Mr. Holmes with his cases when he could. The doctor always stopped for a word with Mrs. Hudson before going up to the old sitting room, and there were many nights when she could hear their voices upstairs and it almost seemed like old times.

Now that Mr. Holmes was gone… She shook her head sadly as her thoughts continued.

She remembered the day she received Dr. Watson's telegram giving her the news of Mr. Holmes' death, and exactly how she'd felt when the doctor had come to her to give her the details. Her emotions had been a confused combination of shock, horror, great grief, and sympathy for the doctor, along with an almost intangible fear as she wondered what she herself was going to do now. She'd felt guilty for those thoughts, but Mrs. Hudson was nothing if not a realist. She knew she couldn't stay in the house without the extra income Mr. Holmes had provided as rent, and she wasn't certain that she even wanted to.

Her first inclination had been to sell the house outright and to leave London to move closer to her sisters and their families. The house was too empty and too quiet, and the thought of taking in a new set of lodgers was more painful than she could bear. Mr. Holmes had been her lodger for so many years she couldn't even fathom the thought of adjusting to new tenants. But she certainly couldn't afford to keep the house without the rent he had paid.

The poor woman had eventually made the difficult decision to sell, and was planning to visit a house-agent to make the arrangements when she received a note from Mr. Mycroft Holmes, asking her to maintain his brother's rooms just as they were, and offering a good amount in return for this consideration. He'd even offered to pay for the repairs needed after the small fire before Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had left for Europe. Mrs. Hudson had wondered why on earth Mr. Mycroft wanted to keep his brother's rooms, when he'd so seldom visited. But the offer was extremely generous and indeed seemed an answer to prayer, and she'd readily agreed.

So in those first few days she'd arranged for the painting and other repairs. After Dr. Watson returned from Switzerland, he'd come to help her. Mrs. Hudson had straightened the sitting room, picking up papers and journals, and Dr. Watson had filed them away where they belonged. The doctor and his former landlady had undertaken the task with a sense of dread, though each tried to put on a brave face for the other. It was obvious that they were close to tears several times as they put away the memorabilia of a partnership that had been in place for ten years. Though it was hard emotionally for them, it had almost seemed a way to say goodbye to the great detective, and they felt the better for it afterwards.

When they finished, Mrs. Hudson had shut the door behind them, and again began to avoid the sitting room.

As the weeks went on, Mr. Mycroft still did not visit his brother's rooms, but Dr. Watson did from time to time. On each occasion, he wandered slowly around the sitting room, touching the furniture and books, and the look in his eyes when he came back downstairs near broke Mrs. Hudson's heart. She wondered then if Mr. Mycroft had kept the room intact for Dr. Watson's sake. After all, these had been his rooms once as well as Mr. Holmes'. And though Mycroft seemed cold and aloof, she'd seen the kind look in his eyes when he spoke to the still grieving Dr. Watson.

In the months following, Dr. Watson visited less often as his practice increased. Mrs. Hudson was pleased that he was doing so well; she knew it had long been his dream to begin full-time general practice. But soon Mary's health inexplicably began to decline. The doctor became even busier than before. He still dropped in on occasion, but these days he did not climb the steps to the sitting room, but instead took tea with Mrs. Hudson in the bright kitchen. The door to the sitting room remained shut.

As the months turned into years, even Dr. Watson stopped visiting Baker Street. Mary was very seriously ill then, and Dr. Watson spent every non-working moment with her. Mrs. Hudson visited them in their home and brewed tea in the Watson's kitchen now, providing what support she could for the poor doctor in this difficult time.

It soon became obvious to all that Mary would not live much longer, and Mrs. Hudson watched sadly as the doctor faded, too, as his wife's illness progressed. On more than one occasion, Mrs. Hudson stayed with Mary so the doctor could get some much-needed rest, but his own health continued to decline as he struggled to maintain his practice and still care for his dying wife.

And now Mary was gone, too. Mrs. Hudson shook her head sadly. _So much death, so much loss, so much pain._

Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath and walked around the room slowly. There were still traces of her lodgers in this room, and even fainter ones of her husband before them. She looked around the room at the old familiar furnishings, noting the letters still affixed to the mantelpiece with the old jack-knife, the Persian slipper still filled with tobacco, now long-stale, and the V.R. spelled out in bullet-holes in the wall.

How many times she'd come up with breakfast to find the room thick with smoke when Mr. Holmes had been up all night. How often she'd heard strains of violin music in the middle of the night. She smiled, remembering the many chemical experiments gone horribly wrong smelling up the entire house and sending the three of them out into the street away from the noxious fumes. Books, newspapers, and broken crockery scattered over the floor. The messes those two had gotten into, and the times when they had come home injured or ill.

Her lodgers had been trying at times, but she wouldn't have traded any of those times, or those memories, for the world. She felt the absence of the doctor and the detective keenly even now. But things had changed again, she thought, and after one more look around, she went out into the hall and shut the door behind her.

Dr. Watson hadn't visited in some time, and when he did, he didn't go upstairs. The poor doctor had taken on a position as a police surgeon, ostensibly to augment his income, as his practice had slacked off while he was distracted during Mary's illness. But Mrs. Hudson suspected that the doctor took the job partly to remain in touch with the detectives at Scotland Yard, and partly as a way to keep a part of Mr. Holmes alive. The doctor was grieving not only for his wife, but also still for the loss of his closest friend.

So Mrs. Hudson continued to keep the room exactly as it had been in the old days when Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had been her lodgers. She'd promised Mr. Mycroft, after all, and she was a woman of her word. The house was lonely now sometimes, and frequently too quiet. But it was still her home, and there was always something to occupy her time and attention.

Overall Mrs. Hudson was content. She had many friends, did charity work, and frequent visits to her sisters and their families helped to stave off the loneliness and the silence. So she stayed on at 221B, and other than occasional cleaning, she continued to avoid the upstairs sitting room and its memories, good and bad.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: Chewing Gum left a review that inspired this chapter. So, Chewing Gum, this one's for you! BTW, this is obviously quite AU!_

* * *

Honesty is the Best Policy

Mrs. Martha Hudson stopped outside the apartment in Pall Mall, adjusting her hat and gloves and taking a deep breath. This interview was not going to be easy, but she knew something was not right, and the time had come for her to find out exactly what was going on.

She knocked briskly, and was shown inside by an older grey-haired woman. Sitting down to wait, she glanced around the room at the austere but well-made furniture, and at the sparse decorations on the walls. Nothing was out of place; everything neat and tidy. Yet another way the two brothers were different. Yes, she decided, this was an apartment very indicative of the elder Holmes.

She stood when Mr. Mycroft Holmes entered, shaking his hand cordially, and exchanging meaningless pleasantries. She searched his face as they resumed their seats, noting the shared high forehead and hawk-like nose which were characteristic of the two brothers, but also noting the vast differences between them.

"Now then, Mrs. Hudson", intoned the big man seriously, regarding her with pale watery eyes. "What can I do for you? If I may say so, you don't look entirely happy. Is there something about our agreement that is troubling you?"

Mrs. Hudson was so accustomed to his brother's rapid deductions, seemingly made out of thin air, that this announcement did not faze her in the least. But accustomed as she was to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, his older brother was a different matter. Not sure how to proceed, she dithered a little, twisting her gloves in her hands. _My, but this is awkward_, she thought, but then decided that honesty is the best policy, as her mother had always said. Gathering her courage, she spoke up.

"Well, yes sir, there is. You see, I don't understand why you want me to keep your brother's rooms as they always were. He's not coming back, of course, if you'll excuse me, and Dr. Watson won't be coming back to Baker Street to live, either. He is quite busy with his own home. It just doesn't make sense." Mrs. Hudson's quiet manner and words belied the rod of pure steel that made up her backbone. She looked up at Mr. Mycroft with a stern look, practically daring him to tell her a lie.

Mycroft was all too aware of his brother's former landlady's formidable character through his brother's recounting of various adventures, and through first-hand experience, involving a rainstorm, a wet overcoat, and several large puddles of mud left in her front hall. He sighed a little, swallowed hard, and replied.

"Well, of course, no he isn't coming back…, per se", he answered, swallowing again as he noted the steely glint in the diminutive woman's eyes. "Um, but he would have wanted his rooms kept for him, you know, if he _were_ coming back…" The big man trailed off as he noted the set of the determined woman's jaw, and the expression on her face which clearly told him she was not satisfied with this answer.

Taking a deep breath and a moment to collect his thoughts, he gave himself a little shake and continued. "Now, I know that keeping the rooms the way he left them is a little difficult for you, Mrs. Hudson, and that it prevents you from taking in new lodgers. But I'm sure you'll agree that the compensation I am providing you is adequate to counter these difficulties, and indeed quite generous. You have agreed to my request, and that should end the matter. My reasons are my own." Mr. Holmes stood up, as if indicating that the interview was over, and gestured toward the door.

He shrank back into his seat, as Mrs. Hudson stood herself, stepped over to him, and stood there fair bristling with emotion.

"Yes, yes, you pay me to keep the rooms as they were. I'm well aware that that is an extremely generous offer, and that it has enabled me to stay in my home." Mycroft was taken aback to note that even though he was sitting and she was standing, Mrs. Hudson and he were at eye level. He shrank back a little as she pointed her finger at him, and began to shake it in his face. "What I am telling you, is that this arrangement is _not _normal. Gentlemen do not ask for their brother's rooms to be kept unchanged, and pay for it, without a good reason. I know that your brother had enemies, I know he had many secrets, and I know what he's capable of. What I _do not know_ is what is going on. I am asking you for an honest answer."

"Now," she said, drawing herself up to her full five feet four inches and glaring at him. "Why do you want me to keep Sherlock Holmes' rooms exactly as they have always been?"

Mycroft looked at the little woman, quivering with anger, mentally calculated what his brother would say, and decided that this time, with an angry female, the game wasn't worth the candle. He cleared his throat and said "Please sit down, Mrs. Hudson. I am prepared to tell you what you want to know. But," he said sternly, plainly showing her his own steel backbone, "I must swear you to secrecy. This is of the greatest importance, and could be most dangerous to you, and to others. You must not say a word, not even to Dr. Watson."

Mrs. Hudson drew a breath to argue, but let it out in a sigh as she took note of his serious expression and his determination. A little afraid of what she was about to hear, she nodded acquiescingly, and sat down to listen attentively.

* * *

Some time later, Mrs. Hudson sat in a hansom traveling back to her home in Baker Street. She could hardly believe all that she had heard and learned this afternoon. The information she had gained was indeed very important, and very dangerous. She could understand now why the Holmes brothers had made the decisions they had. She didn't agree with not telling poor Dr. Watson, and was frightened to even contemplate what he would have to say when he discerned what part she had played in his deception. But she, along with Mr. Mycroft, could see no other way to keep the doctor, or the detective, safe. Mr. Mycroft had been quite concerned about Mrs. Hudson herself, and she had managed to allay his concerns somewhat only by making various plans and promises which she had every intention of keeping.

As she thought back over what she'd heard, Mrs. Hudson laughed a little at the sheer audacity of her former lodger and his brother. _Good heavens, what a pair they are_! She thought to herself. _Only a Holmes could come up with such a plan!_

* * *

Back in Pall Mall, Mycroft Holmes sat in his chair for a long time after showing Mrs. Hudson out. Why in the _world_ had he told her the truth? He was a large man, easily a foot taller than her and outweighing her by at least 200 pounds. And he worked for the government, of all things. Telling lies was practically a part of his job description. Yet he had been cowed by a slight, spunky woman with the heart of a lion. _No wonder_ _Sherlock held her in the highest regard_ he thought.

Mycroft could only hope that today's events would not lead to danger for either his brother, Dr. Watson, or for Mrs. Hudson herself. He shook his head in wonder as he thought again of the little woman with the huge amount of determination and a huge secret to keep.


	25. Chapter 25

Returning

Mrs. Hudson glanced up from her book at the sound of the bell. She sighed a little in exasperation; she'd not had a moment's peace all morning and this was the first chance she'd had to sit down for a bit.

Setting her book aside, she was headed to the door when the bell rang again.

"I'm coming!" she called, truly annoyed now, until she opened the door and saw – Sherlock Holmes himself, apparently raised from the dead and smiling at her.

She promptly flew into hysterics, laughing and crying simultaneously while Mr. Holmes gently caught her arm, leading her back to her chair and pushing her into it. He fetched her a glass of brandy, patting her arm softly and speaking soothingly as she sipped, her unbelieving eyes never leaving his face.

The first thing she said when she'd caught her breath was "Have you seen the doctor yet?"


	26. Chapter 26

The Bookseller's 'guise

Mrs. Hudson stood at the doorway to 221b, watching a rather decrepit-looking old bookseller slouch slowly down the street; heading off to the inquest and then on to Kensington. Off to see Dr. Watson.

She wondered if perhaps she ought to have warned him. The detective was so eager, so excited to see his friend again, that he scarce would have listened anyway. Best to let him find out on his own.

The past three years had been hard on the poor doctor. Prolonged illness and grief change a body inside and out, and he wasn't the same man he'd been before. Still, Dr. Watson had always been a most kind, forgiving soul, and she was certain he'd be overjoyed to find his friend alive. But this deception went beyond the pale, and Mrs. Hudson sent up a silent prayer that the much-anticipated reunion would not hold any unexpected repercussions.


End file.
